


the walls i built around myself

by hoywfiction



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: (in the past), Cutting, Just an angsty Niall fic because Lia is a darling and I was bored, Niall-centric, Self-Harm, Self-Harming Liam, Self-Harming Niall, niam if you want but that's not the intention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-20
Updated: 2016-07-20
Packaged: 2018-07-25 14:09:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7535815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hoywfiction/pseuds/hoywfiction
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Niall has a dark secret that Liam's already figured out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the walls i built around myself

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LiaIsInLove](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiaIsInLove/gifts).



It wasn't dangerous what he was doing, not how he did it anyways. So it wasn't really a problem. It wasn't healthy for him of course and he knew it, but he wasn't sure how to stop. He wouldn't tell the other lads because it was stupid, and it was his own fault, and he was the one doing it to himself. How could they help him? Did he even need help? Did he want to stop? Truthfully, no, not really. It was keeping him sane, and unless a miracle came up and gave him a better way of coping, then this was what he had.

Niall wasn't letting it consume him either, like some people who did it said it always did. He didn't think about it every moment of every day, didn't crave it and feel the need to slip away to do it. It wasn't like that, or at least he'd convinced himself it wasn't. He wasn't wrong exactly, but there were things he didn't realise; he _did_ let it consume him in that he had limited clothing options now, and he stopped cuddling almost all together in fear that his little secret would somehow be found out if his friends could touch him. And he _did_ slip away sometimes, by declining movie nights in Harry's suite or an invitation to play the Wii on the tour bus until late with Louis and Zayn, by telling Liam no, he couldn't come over and order room service with him.

Some of the fans noticed. He wasn't smiling as much as he used to, his laugh wasn't the same. Some of them noticed even deeper than that, asking where half his wardrobe had gone, why he suddenly kept himself in some sort of bubble. He saw them posting their thoughts on Twitter, a couple even DMing him about it. A lot of them, actually, it... A lot of people were noticing. They were _all_ starting to notice.

But then there were those who didn't notice a goddamn thing: The people who could actually do something about it. Niall gave a frustrated, and somewhat watery laugh as he pushed the laptop off onto the table beside his bed, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth as he felt stinging in his eyes. He shook his head slowly, staring out the window to the darkened tops of buildings. He didn't want them to know, he didn't, but with how it'd been going it almost felt like they just didn't care more than they didn't notice it.

At times like these The Thought always crossed his mind, the most terrible thing to ever come into his head. Every time The Thought surfaced it tore him down just a little more, broke him into smaller pieces than he was already in. Although he didn't want the blame to fall on anyone but himself for what he was doing, he would be lying if he said The Thought wasn't the main reason for it. The reason for dismantled razors, hidden blades, damaged skin under shirt sleeves and cotton boxers and the jumpers he opted to sleep in. The reason for the piece of metal poised between his thumb and forefinger, the beads of red by the crook of his elbows. The reason for the stained wad of bath tissue beside him.

Niall dragged the corner of the blade swiftly across his skin again, watching on with a smoothed expression as he felt the brief spike of adrenaline, then the calm. After a few moments a bead of red formed on the corner of the new cut, and a smaller one in the centre. They weren't deep, the cuts, they never were. He could never physically get himself to press harder with the blade (but he would, he believed, if he could). Instead he just made a lot of them, one on top of the other, crossed and going at different angles. He didn't always do his arms, in fact he only did that on nights like these when he _really_ felt like shit. 

Just five more, he decided as he created another just below the one he'd made a second ago. Just five more so that The Thought could seep out and then fade away, leave him alone. And it was late, he needed to sleep. So five more—Four now, just four.

He stashed the blade in a side pocket of his backpack after maybe twenty, he stopped counting after he got to seven because he didn't want to know how much he'd broken his own recent promise to himself. If he did want to count he'd figure out it was actually more around a tally of fifty. After he was sure they'd all stopped bleeding, so he wouldn't make a mess of his clothes, he stuffed the tissue in his bag as well and rolled over, shutting off the lights. They stung, all of them, but it was oddly pleasant. Like the throbbing on his skin was reminding him that he was still here, in this world, alive and breathing and able to feel, even if he sometimes wasn't so sure he could. He just stared out the window until he drifted off, thinking about their interview tomorrow morning. The idea of putting on the mask, of being bubbly and giddy and carefree, well... The idea of it was exhausting. Exhausting enough to put him to sleep.

 

 

Liam knew. Liam knew that there was something wrong with Niall, and he felt like he may know just exactly what. He prayed to any god that would listen to him that he was wrong, but every day he felt more and more convinced.

It was the way he was withdrawn now that tipped the older lad off, because that simply wasn't Niall Horan. And how he shut himself away so much... Well, the pattern seemed familiar to him. If Niall was in fact going through what he was afraid he might be, then an old friend that Liam had left behind long months ago was hidden somewhere in the Irish lad's hotel room.

"Niall." He knocked again, resting his head against the door. He didn't hear a response. Sighing, he took out the spare key he had to his mate's room, marked with a black 'N', opening the door himself. When he walked in Niall was curled in bed still, back to him. He walked over, intent on gently shaking him awake, but as soon as his hand touched his shoulder he spoke up.

"I'm awake," he said softly, sighing and rolling over. There was a smile on his face when he looked up, but Liam wasn't stupid. It was the most fake smile he'd ever seen.

"We have to leave in an hour," he said quietly, swallowing nervousness. Niall furrowed his eyebrows, looked over at the digital clock on the bedside table, then nodded.

"Look at that. Where'd the time go," he mused flatly, staring at the illuminated red numbers. The older lad nodded, head ducked down and eyes on the floor. 

I'll come check on you in forty-five, okay?" he said. Niall hummed a response, and with that he turned to go. "Um, it's supposed to be warm today."

He just hummed again. So Liam left.

 

 

He laughed, smiled, made sure to keep a smirk on his face that meant absolutely nothing. He was happy, or at least he looked it. He hoped. He was really trying his best.

There were questions about Larry Stylinson—when weren't there—and about girls. Again, when weren't there. Niall spoke some but about three minutes later and he'd completely forgotten what he'd even said or what the interviewer had asked to begin with.

"Niall?" He blinked and looked around, the other lads staring at him expectantly. He rubbed at the back of his jacket-clad arm, wishing he could take it off because these stage lights made everything feel hot, and laughed out of nervousness, forcing a grin.

"Sorry, d'I miss something?" he asked, tilting his head towards their host.

"I asked if you were okay," she chuckled, lips drawn up slightly. _No, no I'm not fucking okay. I haven't been okay for weeks but what do you care? What does anyone care? You know who definitely doesn't care anymore? Me. I don't fucking care._

"Yeah, I'm okay..."

 

 

"Don't shut the door. Don't do it." Niall looked up with round eyes to see Liam standing there, body wound with tension and tears starting to collect in his eyes. One of the strangest expressions the Irish lad had ever seen him make formed his face.

"Liam, I'm tired, I—" he began, but before he could get around to putting a barrier between them his mate pushed his way in, placing himself on the other side of the room. "What're you...?"

"I know what you're doing, Ni." Liam's voice cracked part way through the statement. Niall felt himself go cold, stood against the wall by the door .

"Yeah," he replied with a forced chuckle. "I'm going to bed."

Liam apparently didn't believe him, which he was right not to really. He shook his head and let out a shaky breath, wiping quickly at his eyes with the tip of his finger. "I used to. Back in school when I felt like everyone hated me. And when I started getting hate from the fans—"

Niall took a step towards him. "What're you talking about?"

"You know," the other lad said with a strained voice. He swallowed, looked away, then glanced down at himself. His friend watched as he brushed his fingers over the waistband of his jeans on both sides. "I-I used to do it on my hips—"

"Liam!" He couldn't be talking about... Liam didn't... This was Liam for god sake! Their indestructible boy. Niall cutting was one thing, but Liam? He didn't deserve feeling like he had to do that. Not Liam, fucking... No...

"—just below the band on my boxers, so you lads wouldn't see." Liam sniffed, rubbing at his nose and refusing to look up. Niall felt entirely numb.

"...I'm so sorry," he said eventually, voice quiet. "I didn't know."

Liam gave a saddened smile, brushing the fringe of his hair into place. "You weren't supposed to... Kind of how you didn't want us to know about you."

And Niall was crying now himself, only because this didn't feel real, not at all. Liam knew about his secret and he hadn't even seen any of the scars or the cuts. He couldn't have. Niall had been so careful, tried so hard to hide it...

"How did you stop...?" he asked, throat tight, opting for that other than asking how he knew. His mate came around to him, pulled him into a hug that he almost melted into. 

"Let's start with why. If you can," Liam said, pulling back and looking down at him, hand lingering on his arm.

"It..." He focused on his neck instead of his eyes, he just couldn't... How was he supposed to explain The Thought without making Liam feel guilty? "I know it's not true but I... Sometimes... My mind makes me think you guys don't need me."

The older boy nodded slowly, his fingers curling slightly around his friend's bicep. "Did we make you feel that way...?"

"No!" Niall jumped in immediately, looking at the hurt on Liam's face. "Jesus, Li, no. It, I... Management kept turning my mic off, that one girl who didn't want anything to do with me because she came for Louis— And I know that was only once but still..."

"It's okay, Niall... I'm sorry," Liam nearly whispered, rubbing at his eyes with his other hand again.

"Please don't be sorry, it's my fault, all of it," Niall argued, but the older lad just shook his head.

"It's not your fault. It's definitely not your fault." Niall watched him as he slowly blinked, in some sort of trance. The blonde saw a variety of emotions swim through his eyes, surfacing for brief moments before diving back into their depths. And it was an unfortunate truth that he knew what he was thinking about.

"Stop." Liam snapped out of it, blinking at him, the swirling in his eyes subsiding until only one emotion remained there; confusion.

"St-Stop?" he asked in a slightly high voice, looking absolutely wrecked apart by whatever had just been across his mind. Niall took his hand and gave it a squeeze, to ground him.

"You're remembering what it feels like. I want you to stop it." The tears returned to his eyes and he nodded a few times, biting at his bottom lip.

"I want to help you Niall but I just— I don't know if I— I really do want to," he choked out, holding more firmly to the hand in his. The younger lad nodded sadly, giving a weak and saddened smile to reassure him.

"I know Li, but you can't. You just can't." Niall believed he feared Liam relapsing while trying to help him more than anything he could possibly do himself.

"I can," Liam said firmly, and suddenly he looked more sure of this than anything he ever had before. "We'll get through this, Ni. Okay?"

And there was nothing Niall could say, or do, so he nodded. His arms itched but he didn't move to scratch at the scabs beneath his sleeves, instead holding his best friend's hand tighter. Liam smiled.

Things would be okay. He hoped.


End file.
